


Victory Stroll

by wrongstation



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrongstation/pseuds/wrongstation
Summary: Set on finale night. Jason is nervous about his performance. David doesn't want to let that happen.





	

For weeks, Jason Castro had been putting down his performance of Hallelujah. It was the one everyone kept going back to, and he'd try diligently to steer them toward Somewhere Over the Rainbow, but to no avail. Everything came back to Hallelujah and he didn't understand how, given the fact that he'd blown the last note to kingdom come.

Somehow, maybe by the hand of a God who knew he wanted a chance at falsetto redemption, the offer was passed for him to reprise the song on the finale results show. In lieu of a duet with a celebrity, he was handed the opportunity to sit on that stool in the middle of that stage and revisit the song that had sparked his fanbase. Immediately (at least immediately in Jason time, for the producers it came in the form of a blink, a slow shrug and an unsure smile) he agreed and that was that. He'd sing Hallelujah. In front of the largest audience he'd ever seen. No pressure, or anything.

For days, it took all his concentration to learn the group songs and dances. It took focus he didn't know he had to ignore the fear of that high note. To the rest of the world, he was composed and appeared as laid back as ever, but Jason was inwardly freaking out. Sometimes it came through in the widening of his eyes or the constant pushing of dreads over his shoulder, but the untrained eye just saw a calm demeanor that was always mistaken for indifference or serenity.

David Cook, however, knew better. Even with as much as he had on his plate, David was the one to stand close by in rehearsals. He was the one to applaud no matter how many times Jason's voice cracked. He was the one who stood outside the bathroom door as Jason practiced in the shower, and he was the one yelling critiques, suggestions, and praise over the sound of the running water. David Cook saw through the calm, saw through the shrugs and the blinks and the casual dismissals. He saw the nerves, and that almost made Jason more nervous.

Performance night, he stood center stage, staring out into a black void. He couldn't see them, but he could hear them. He knew they were there. Thousands of them. They might as well have been breathing directly in his ear, and the light shining from somewhere might as well have been burning right through his corneas. He swallowed hard, pushing the words out, closing his eyes tightly and gripping the microphone as he sang his heart out. He sang his gratitude, his fear, his pride. He left it all on the floor - everything, including his stomach and his heart. As he stood from the stool, his hands shook and he was sure that he was going to lose his air, the word 'arch' wrenched from his throat as he poured his heart out about love not being a victory march. It took two hands to hold the microphone steady and then... deep breath, high note, hold it... hold it... maintain it... done. Victory.

Gratitude swept over him along with the applause, and just as quickly as it had started, it was over. He knew his marks by heart and he disappeared off the stage, breathing heavy, the shakes taking over again. Good shakes this time, shakes of relief. His throat was dry, his head was spinning, and he was in someone's arms before he could even blink and register who it was. He knew the smell, though, even through his anxiety induced haze. He'd know David's scent anywhere.

"You did it," David murmured, his naturally deep voice husky with the low tone. "I'm so proud of you, you did it."

Jason thought to himself that he should be the one saving up congratulations for what he felt was an inevitable win. He should be the one with pride in his voice and his arms wrapped around David in congratulations. But of course, his brain was too dead to protest, and the only two things still bouncing around inside his cranium were that he hadn't blown the note and that David was proud. He tried to say something, maybe a thank you, anything, but the only thing that came out was a little squeak.

Pulling back, David's warm eyes looked at him, saying everything his mouth had just vocalized. Jason wasn't ready to be honest with himself about the situation yet, but he knew that once he was ready, he'd admit that David's eyes were saying more than congratulations.

"I can't... stop shaking... oh... man!" Jason felt like an idiot. He couldn't muster a thank you, but that he could babble about.

David let him go, then reached for his hands. Scooping them up, he held Jason's hands between his own, strong and firm, bookends that calmed the tremors. His fingers curled around Jason's hands and then they were lifting, up to David's mouth. Lips and a hint of whisker brushed across his fingers, down his knuckles.

Dry throat again, heaving chest. New anxiety, new reason for the deflation of his lungs. It felt like someone popped them with a safety pin the way you might a balloon. He swallowed hard this time, not to push out a note, not to ignore the crowd, not to give the performance of a lifetime. This time, he swallowed hard to push back the tearful lump that was rising to his throat. He felt loved, appreciated, cherished. Maybe love wasn't a victory march. Maybe it was more like a nice, slow stroll.

David would later win the competition.

Jason won something else entirely.


End file.
